


Mediocrity's Saviour

by farfetched



Series: Here in Hokkaido [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, dealing with loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: He thought he'd left Akaashi, and the feelings related to him, behind, back in high school. But when Akaashi returns to his life a few years on, Konoha starts to realise that things aren't so easily forgotten; perhaps, though, this can be a new chance. If he can stop feeling too average to take it.





	Mediocrity's Saviour

"Shit," he announces to the room at large. There is no answer; no ears, and with the only door shut behind him, no one's coming. 

It's quiet and shaky, his voice. He hates it. 

"Shit." He says again. He presses his hands against his face. Fancies that if he pressed his fingertips hard enough to his eyelids, he might see the prints upon them. Proof to tell the world he is an individual. Not part of the crowd. Not a nameless face, or a faceless name. 

Except, of course, that that is all he is. Where it matters, he is nothing. 

He is the average of average. The median, the mean, fifty percent on the bell curve, in with all the other normal people and of course. He's nothing to look at. He blends in. Even if he tries, he's so average that's the only thing at stands out. Perhaps, if he looked it up in the dictionary, he might find under the definition of average, his name: _see also, Konoha Akinori, the perfectly average human_. 

It makes sense that he isn't seen. He won't be seen now. Invisible even in plain sight. 

He feels like crying. 

No longer bothered to hold up his own weight, he lets his knees buckle, controlling his fall to the floor, trapped against the door. His back slides down it, and his shirt rides up slightly. It's uncomfortable, but he tries to use it to ground him, to take him away from it. 

It does not work. 

"Shit..." He murmurs, under his breath, and then, when his eyes burn uncomfortably, again, louder: "Shit!" 

He's not bad at anything. It should be a comfort, but he's not good at anything either, that's his comeuppance, and sometimes he hates that he doesn't stand out. What is he good for, if he is not good at anything? Why is he here? Stability only goes so far. 

Gritting his teeth, he wipes away a hot drip of salt water that clings to his skin. The second receives the same fate, squashed to dust on his fingertips, the only proof he is not exactly average. 

Average height. Average ability. Average intelligence. Average looks. 

The problem is not even that it's him thinking it. It's that he knows everyone else thinks it. 

He just wants, for once, to feel like he's the best one there. It doesn't have to be anything special. Karaoke, but he knows his voice is _average_. Running, but everything about him is average. Stamina, speed, form, _average_. 

He's not like everyone else. Everyone else has their weak points, but they have their strengths. Bokuto is a glaring example. 

Just once. Even just once, he'd like someone, even just one person, to look at him as though he's not the epitome of mediocrity. As though he's worth more than a fifty percent, a passing grade, a satisfactory. 

To actually look at him, and see him, not a generic human. To see him. Even to his friends, he fights to be seen, and he hates how easily he would be able to slide out of a group with them unawares to his absence. 

The thing with fingerprints, he thinks to himself, is that they provide proof. Proof is only valid if it’s being looked for, and no one is. No one even tries to find the proof that he is anything other than generic, a clone, a model. 

He grits his teeth, growls under his breath. 

“Shit. Shit shit _shit_.” he spits, angry, at them, at himself. 

Why is he surprised? Did he really think anyone would see him and choose him? 

Behind him, the door handle clicks. Increased pressure where it presses against his back. Someone trying to enter. He pleads with them silently to give up. It can't be Bokuto, it's not noisy enough, it hasn’t thrown him across the room, leaving only one likely culprit. 

He wants them to leave. Don't try. Don't make him chat right now. Not to him. He can't stand it, can't stand the utter blandness in his voice, his tone, his words. The way he stands, the way he dresses, the entire way he is, that he is unable to change, because dammit he's tried. 

It happens again. Squashing his eyes together more tightly, still hot from shameful tears, he wills them to give up. 

He knows that they won't. Their stuff is still in here, after all. If he's quicker, perhaps he only has to deal with one of the pair, although conversely, he'd rather deal with the louder of the duo; less observant, less likely to realise his thoughts and be bemused by them. Bokuto is easy to fend off. 

Akaashi, however, is not. 

"Excuse me...?" The voice ventures from the other side. Akinori knows he's lost at that, and scrambles away, to face his stuff, and gathers it with unerring swiftness. He can get away. 

"Ah, Konoha-san." Akaashi intones. "Were you perhaps sitting in front of the door?" 

Akinori smirks to himself. 

"Just resting a bit." He replies back. His legs, in truth, still feel weak, his arms faintly shaking. 

_he doesn't want to know_

"Are you quite sure you're alright?" Akaashi asks. The team is important to him. They need to function to cover for Bokuto, to receive to get the ball to Bokuto, to hype Bokuto up. And Bokuto is the most important thing to Akaashi. 

"Yeah, of course." He says, resignation thick in his throat. 

Bokuto. Always, it comes back to Bokuto. 

Akaashi makes some kind of hum that might sound unconvinced. Akinori can’t let it get to suspicion. He’ll contain it. It’s stupid to feel like he does right now, and he definitely can’t explain. 

Scowling at his bag, he crams his stuff into it with unnecessary ferocity. Wishes he could do the same with his thoughts, cram them all into a box and throw it away, be happy with what he is, what he has. 

Instead, he pines after the utterly unattainable, even knowing from the start it was unattainable. How stupid can this generic human get? Maybe that’s why. He’s an average. The average is as stupid as this, as he is. 

“Konoha-san?” 

It’s quiet, but manages to be self-assured. Why can’t he be like that? Instead, he delves deep into pools of insecurity and self-assessment, unsure on long trodden roads towards self-confidence, never reaching his destination. 

“I’m fine, Akaashi.” He mutters, hears the waver in his voice, and wants to leave. Wants to leave himself behind and be new, be someone else, someone unburdened from this. 

A hand at his arm. His eyes are burning again. He won’t turn. All he has to do is grab his coat, put it on, and go without Akaashi seeing his face, without bumping into Bokuto. It shouldn’t be difficult, it shouldn’t be, but Akaashi isn’t weak. 

He sees. Of course he sees. Akinori wrenches his arm away and grabs his coat. 

“Konoha-san, tell me what’s upsetting you.” Akaashi intones. 

It’s almost like he _cares_. The thought inspires a pathetic whine from his throat, a scowl to his face, and a ferocious red to his cheeks. He grits his teeth, slings his bag over his shoulder. 

“Nothing to worry about, Akaashi. I’m going home.” He spits, striding past – or intending to, at least. Akaashi grabs his arm again to stop him – damn, he can be pretty forward when he needs to be. Akinori would never- 

But then Akinori is average. Average people wouldn’t be so forwards, and so, neither is he. 

“If it’s going to affect the team dynamic, I believe you should tell me, Konoha-san.” Akaashi states, as though it’s that easy, as though he is not, however unwillingly and unknowingly, the root of this episode. 

Akinori snorts. 

“Give it until Monday,” he says, bitterness thick in his voice. It’s Thursday. It gives him a whole weekend. “And you’ll forget you saw any of this.” 

Four days. Four days to forget Akaashi’s voice towards Bokuto. To forget Bokuto’s enthusiastic response. To forget and package away his own feelings. 

“I doubt my forgetting is going to change anything,” Akaashi starts firmly. Akinori snorts. He knows that. But Akaashi has more interesting things to focus on than the most average human. “And your reluctance to tell me concerns me further.” 

Akaashi is remarkably level-headed for someone who just laid their heart on the line. For someone who laid that heartline right over his, without even knowing. 

How the fuck was Akinori even going to compete with Bokuto, let alone win? He was destined to lose. 

Now he’s lost, for sure, and he never even fought. 

He laughs, bitterly.  
“You forget, and I’ll keep it quiet. Sound good?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, striding towards the door. He doesn’t want one. He wants to escape from here. Before Bokuto arrives and acts all clingy. 

“It does not, Konoha-san. I hope you will be able to sort it out soon.” 

His crushing grip on the door handle tightens. He can hear Bokuto’s loud footfalls from along the corridor, and he aches. It makes him lash out. He turns, and smiles almost pleasantly. 

“How does never sound to you? Just forget about it, instead.” 

This time, he gets away without a comment. He goes the opposite way to Bokuto, and ignores the shouting.

* * *

Bokuto texts him – and the group chat – almost constantly. If it’s not about something Akaashi has done, it’s about how much he misses Akaashi, or the smallest things, pictures flooding the chat, Akaashi making breakfast in the morning on one of the rare occasions he’s staying over at Bokuto’s, a selfie in the early morning, Bokuto’s hair ungelled and looking odd and Akaashi’s messier than usual. 

It hurts, and it makes him angry. It makes him annoyed, how Bokuto is always on about Akaashi making his games – all of them making it to his games – and cheering for him, how he wishes Akaashi could be playing with him. 

_Bokuto-san, I am not of a level to play for a national team_ , he replies. Akaashi knows where his strengths end. He’s not normal like that. He’s mapped the very edge of his potential and knows it intimately, knows exactly what lies outside of his talent, his skills. 

In Average World, those lines are blurry. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, and doesn’t Akinori always find that, in his world, things are never as good as they could be, as they might seem. 

_shut up Bokuto_ , he types once, tired at university, after a spate of messages about when Akaashi is coming to visit him next, whether he ought to propose _Bokuto moves at lightning speed, no end no end, Akinori has to end this somehow, the constant regalement of his lost, lost war he never attempted to fight_. 

_I don’t need to know every little thing akashi does_ he types furiously. If he were on the phone, he’d be shouting. As it is, angry tears burn down his cheeks and the hands he uses to swipe them away are vicious, burn him further. Drowning in anger, in pain, in idiocy. In the constant show of his utter mediocrity, and everything he’s lost to it. 

A text back from Bokuto: _just cos ur jealous of my bf_ , he childishly snarks back. 

On any other day, Akinori just wouldn’t reply. Today, he can’t stand it.  
_I’M NOT JEALOUS OF YOU OR HIM_ he sends, nearly breaking the phone screen with the vigour he types with, and throws his phone across the room to retrieve later. If it’s broken, who cares. He can’t stand the sight of it and all the pictures of Akaashi on it that he can’t quite delete, all the messages showing him just how badly he managed to lose, and who to. 

He barely hears the buzzing over his breathing through gritted teeth, physical pain the only thing keeping him grounded. He goes for a run, physical exhaustion to override everything else, and sleeps when he gets back. 

That is his break from revision, unfulfilling as it is. 

When he finally retrieves his phone, Bokuto is laughing at him on the group chat. 

_Kono is totally jealous of me! He wishes he had an awesome boyfriend like Keiji does!_

The phone narrowly avoids another flight across the room. He turns it off and ignores the wound, too close to the truth. An inch from his heart. 

One word less, and Bokuto’s statement would have been the exact truth. It’s stupid.

* * *

Since Akinori was more involved in the running of the club than he really ought to have been, considering he was never captain or vice, Akaashi keeps in contact sometimes to ask things. In turns, it is nice, and utterly degrading. It is nice to feel useful. But each message reminds him of his failure, his averageness, even if he knows the answer. 

He looks at his fingerprints, then. The thing is, he could never look at everyone’s. He’ll never know if they truly make him unique. 

Proof that is useless at its singular job to prove he is unique, even in the smallest of ways, can hardly be called proof. 

He stops looking, and studies. Why bother to check inconclusive proof? Nothing has changed. He’s living testament of that. 

So he goes on. It’ll be three years of that; studying and texting and making new friends to look average to and getting average grades and into an average job at the end of it. Akaashi graduates from Fukurodani; Akinori goes, more for the nostalgia than anything to do with Akaashi, although he led a good fight almost to Nationals as captain without them. 

He thinks, perhaps, when seeing Bokuto and Akaashi kissing in one of the corridors, accidental and unknown (just like last time, they don’t even know that he knew from the start) it only hurts half as much, that maybe he’s getting over it. 

And he accepts that he’s average. 

Maybe the whole point of him is to not stand out. To be that member in the crowd scenes of movies, manga, those faceless people with lives no one cares about. Certainly, no one really cares about his. His mother phones once a week, for a duration of rarely more than half an hour. His father will add a comment on the end, rather than phone himself. He visits them on the holidays. Once he’s finished university, he moves out to a perfectly normal apartment in a normal corner of Japan with a normal job. 

He dates a few people.

It never lasts. _She_ wants something more exciting, _he_ wants more public affection. _She_ wants someone with more money, _he_ wants someone who’s going somewhere, not on the slow train to nowhere. 

While he is with them, they help fill a gap, make him feel less generic, but every time they leave, he just feels numb, and boring, and drained. It’s always back to square one. He wasn’t who they thought he was. 

They all thought an outside so boring could only cover something more interesting. 

They’re wrong. All of them, and Akinori finds he rarely gets too attached after the first few. It’s a way to pass the time, and mildly enjoyable, but he can always tell they’re not going to get invested. He’s a mark on the path to the one they really want. 

He wonders how many stories he is part of, name and face forgotten, only present as a ‘once, I had a boyfriend who-’ while they tell their new lovers. 

He finds himself recognising the empty feeling as loneliness, and resigns himself, somewhat, to existing in that state. He gets a snake, because he’s allergic to fur and they seem cool enough. They are quiet, at least, and amusing to watch. 

He stays in touch with Sarukui and Komi more than any of the others; once Akaashi graduates, he has little to converse with Akinori about, so texts taper off, until most of his news is via Bokuto, if not frequent. He doesn’t really think about it most of the time, until he realises that weeks go by between Bokuto’s mentions of Akaashi, and they’re never quite as enthusiastic as they used to be. 

No mind, though. Maybe Bokuto finally started growing up. He doesn’t see him a lot, so it’s possible, if implausible. 

It’s better this way. Akaashi is merely someone he went to school with, spent two years of his club with, played numerous tournaments with, won, lost and cried with, celebrated with, and along the way, got a little caught up in feeling lonely and mediocre and pointed that inadequacy towards the closest new person to him. 

He misses them sometimes. Sometimes, when work is annoying and unproductive, when his ball python Mia is only interested in doing nothing and hisses at him groggily, he wishes he lived a little closer. That they would want to visit a little more. He’s invited them over, they’ve all been at one time or another, mostly using his birthday as an excuse to see them and feel a little less hollow for a while. Rarely do they invite him, significant others and jobs getting in the way, until he only half-heartedly tries. 

At some point, a couple of years after his graduation, Akaashi messages him. 

The first one arrives after he’s just had dinner. Mia is curled precariously around his neck like a living necklace, the plate left to one side to add to the growing stack of washing up he’ll do tomorrow, and he is lazily holding a book he’s not concentrating on. He’s staring out the window as he ponders getting a fish tank, trying to mentally weigh up the pros and cons. It’d be calming, and nice background noise. He’s not fond enough of TV to bother getting one – he’d rather use his laptop anyway – and it’d be something to occupy a shelf with other than books. 

His phone, a little battered around the edges but functional, emits a ping, his notification of a message, and he leans over to pick it up whilst balancing Mia in place. 

‘ _Is this still Konoha Akinori-san? Sincerely, Akaashi Keiji_ ’, it reads, and Akinori can’t help but snort. So formal. 

He shoots back a simple ‘ _yes it is, Akaashi Keiji-san_ ’ for good measure, and ponders for a moment, why it happened. He doubts it matters much. Likely just checking the address for someone else, or confirming, after the long while without direct contact, that it is the correct person. He doubts it will lead to anything important; if nothing else, it is perhaps an early volleyball team reunion. Perhaps Bokuto finally dropped the question. 

That thought rankles, slightly. The thought that he’s forgettable enough to only hear via Akaashi, and through text no less. But he’s making assumptions, and locks his phone. He finally concentrates on the book, and manages to miss the ping until he finishes, the point at which he notices it flashing in his peripheral vision. 

Yawning, he sets the defunct bookmark down on the table, and returns the book to its prior place. Picking up the phone as he strolls to his bathroom to get ready to sleep, he swipes the phone open. 

‘ _Are you still resident in Iwamizawa?_ ’, it questions him, and he raises an eyebrow. He shoots back an affirmative, and brushes his teeth. He shivers faintly as he heads to the bed, and notes that he’ll need thicker covers soon. September; he sees a lot of kids walking to school on his commute, and watches with a faint nostalgia. 

To be honest, he’s surprised Akaashi recalls his location, even down to the city. He probably wouldn’t remember where Akaashi was living if he wasn’t attached to Bokuto, loud and prone to telling them about anything. 

Although, he is more surprised at the incoming response.  
‘ _May I inconvience you by visiting? Bokuto-san has a series of matches I am unable to attend. I would like to photograph the Hokkaido countryside, I have not had much opportunity. Perhaps you might even be persuaded to show me around?_ ’ 

He knew about the matches, but he’s surprised, considering that Akaashi usually tries to attend, and Bokuto usually wants him to. Usually, Bokuto wants them all there – Akinori couldn’t get out of work this time, nd he’s not wasting holiday on test matches. He’s a reserve on his team at the moment, impatiently awaiting his moment of glory on the volleyball pitch. He does get to play sometimes; Akinori swears that he mainly just wants them to see it, see him, succeeding. He’s always basked in the praise. He’s always laughing about the antics of one of their setters, a precocious guy called Oikawa or something. 

He thinks it over for a moment, and then decides he’s got nothing to lose. He can set up a futon in the living room and sleep on that, be gracious enough to lend Akaashi the bed. It won’t be for long, maximum a fortnight, as Bokuto’s matches are qualifiers, an intense series of games deciding the players for the national team for the Olympics next year. 

‘ _Be my guest, Akaashi. In three weeks’ time, correct?_ he responds, and yawns, clicking his phone off. Replacing Mia back in her terrarium, he lies under the covers and tries to sleep. 

He keeps thinking, though. 

Why can’t Akaashi attend home games?

* * *

He keeps thinking about it, up until Akaashi visits. He thinks about it throughout his visit, and afterwards. Bokuto hasn’t said anything regarding the subject, and neither had Akaashi during the entire time he’d been present. 

Akinori had clocked it as odd, but doesn’t question it directly. He wants to, but equally, it’s a minefield; instead, he focuses on trying to make Akaashi used to his meagre flat. Akaashi, after all, is used to a rather grander scale of housing, and despite his reassurances, Akinori suspects he finds the smaller layout a little claustrophobic. They keep stepping over each other – it is small for two of them, after all, if perfectly sized for one. 

Akinori laughs internally about how he’d felt, back in high school. 

He lets it rest in the past where it belongs, but equally, can’t quite forget about it. When he discovers inconsequential things about Akaashi he never knew, never had the chance; just how messy his hair is after a night’s sleep, pressed into odd waves like the Hokkaido sea in his photos. He finds out that Akaashi is not especially a morning person, and is akin to Akinori in that regard; able to, but generally unwilling. Akaashi can cook quite well, but would rather not, if Akinori is more willing to than him. Even still, he’ll sit in the kitchen while Akinori cooks, watching, or not; going over his photographs perhaps, or chatting to Bokuto between his matches. 

He finds out that Akaashi is wary of Mia at first; once he introduces the two, and Mia, typically, just fancies a sleep somewhere warm – on someone warm – he seems to get used to her. 

When they realise it’s Akinori’s birthday, Akaashi insists on a meal out, and refuses to let Akinori pay for any of it. When the bar patrons find out, he is plied with alcohol and good wishes, and he’s never really built up any tolerance. He wakes up the next morning with little memory and a head feeling like an anvil: heavy and abused. Akaashi laughs, never nearly so drunk as him, and Akinori scowls, all the way through work the next day, hellish and tiring. 

Akaashi makes it up to him by letting him use the bed, swapping places for the night, and oddly seems more at ease. Akinori wonders if he said something about Bokuto, and feels relieved for having said so, unaware of Akinori’s lack of memory, or whether Akinori confirmed that he really doesn’t care that they’re together, something he’s retrospectively not convinced he conveyed. 

He’s never been overly forthcoming on his own relationships, preferring to stay quiet about them. He’s not sure if Akaashi knows he’s not straight, and whether that even matters; he decides it doesn’t, and lets Akaashi show him a handful of photos for critique. 

Akinori only realises how lonely it had felt before when he returns from seeing Akaashi off at the train station, a weird tense air around him, returns and has no ‘welcome home’. 

Somehow, Mia just isn’t quite the same. 

After spending the week doing research, he gets a fish tank the next weekend, and populates it as soon as he is able; it is no match for a bemused smile and a second pair of shoes in the hallway, however. 

Akinori tries to forget, and when that is unsuccessful, decides that perhaps he ought to give dating a go again. He gets as far as the section asking him to write one interesting thing about himself, and gives up. The people on those sites only want one thing anyway, and he'd like more. 

Maybe if he stopped thinking he was average, he'd stop believing it.

* * *

Akinori stares for a long moment, unsure whether he’s going to wake up in a minute. It feels like something out of a book, he feels like he can imagine the words to describe it, cold air seeping into the warm haven of his flat, obscured by the unannounced visitor, hands clasped tightly around a satchel and a suitcase, face red and eyes too, snow settled on his hat and scarf and the shoulders of his coat, starting to melt on his bags and into his hair. 

Only Akaashi could still look pretty under such circumstances, Akinori notes with a certain sense of detachment. It’s not really happening, he doesn’t think. And this dream started off so normally. If he just thinks how he got here, he’ll realise it’s not real, except he does, remembers getting home from work and settling in for dinner and music in the background, cleaning the living room and then sitting and watching the snow, Mia wrapped cosily around his neck. She’s still there, squirming away from the cold. 

Akaashi clears his throat.  
“I understand it’s late, but may I come in?” He says, his voice faintly raspy like Akinori’s never heard it before, and it hits him that it is actually happening. 

“Are things okay with Bokuto?” He questions. Akaashi snorts softly, eyes dropping to the ground, knuckles going whiter still.  
“Bokuto-san is fine. He’s just not in love with me anymore.” His voice is tight, controlled. 

He can’t remember where they were last. Can’t remember, and it kind of doesn’t matter where, because it’s still a pretty long trip to get here from anywhere; it explains the bags and the weariness. And mostly, it doesn’t matter, because Akaashi is here, now, asking him for help. 

Akinori stands aside, busies himself hanging up Akaashi’s coat and dusting snow off it; busies himself making tea, finds Akaashi sitting at the kotatsu watching the fish tank, the whirr of the pump loud in the small space. Placing the tea in front of Akaashi, he doesn’t know what to say; he just sits, and finds himself glad he cleaned at least one room of his apartment. The rest isn’t awful, but he’d rather be aware of guests coming. 

As though reading his thoughts, Akaashi speaks.  
“I apologise for intruding. We were visiting Sapporo. I did not overly wish to be alone.” He looks almost bashful, a look Akinori does not think fits on his face. 

“Ah, don’t worry. Sorry about the mess.” He remarks, still stunned. Akaashi looks about himself with a raised eyebrow. “I cleaned in here today, but the rest needs doing.” He explains, and gets a nod. They both sip their tea, quiet for a long moment. 

He doesn’t really get it. They fit so well, even if that had hurt for a long, long time. He’s confused about why it has fallen apart, but he doesn’t want to ask now, doesn’t want to rub salt in the wound. 

Now he really thinks about it, Bokuto had been more reserved on his messages about Akaashi recently. Had been for quite some time, but then Akinori doesn’t hear too much from him. Komi had made a brief comment about it, but Akinori didn’t like thinking too much about it, leading back to his own sense of failure and loneliness. Akaashi is either hiding his surprise well, or anticipated something happening; he doesn’t blame Akaashi for not wanting to be alone in a hotel room, or remain with Bokuto immediately after that. Sapporo isn’t too far, and he’s must be the only one Akaashi knows up here in Hokkaido – the rest of the Akaashi family live in and around Tokyo. Few people would choose to move from Tokyo to Hokkaido, but then, here he is. It can’t be that rare if he’s done it. 

He takes the moment of silence to observe Akaashi, staring down at his tea while he takes sips occasionally. Akinori has abandoned his already, lost to thought. In the light of the living room, he looks tired, and worn somehow. His eyes are definitely red, and somewhat swollen; his cheeks are still flushed, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from presenting in such a state. 

Akinori could kick him out.

The thought crosses his mind, but as soon as it does, he knows he’s already made his decision. The futon is more comfortable than it has any right to be, and reminds him a little of visiting family when he was smaller, chattering with cousins until an adult came in and told them to shut up. He likes the idea of other people being here, and it’s Akaashi; much as the man is still quite the mystery to him, Akinori trusts him. He’d stayed before, and that had been fine, almost fun, he’d say if it wasn’t quite so sad. In addition, Akaashi looks like he could use the hospitality. There won’t be any trains from Iwamizawa at this hour, even if Akaashi did want to leave. 

“Feel free to stay over.” He finally says. If it were a random stranger, or someone he knows less well, he’d be far more reluctant. He’s actually looking forwards to the company though, however short, and for whatever reason. 

The relief that crosses Akaashi’s face is palpable, and wipes away any remaining worries he has; makes him glad for making the offer.  
“Thank you, Konoha-san. I very much appreciate the offer, and would like to take you up on that if I could.” He returns. 

Akinori smiles, faintly, and uncoils Mia from around his neck, draping her gently over Akaashi’s; he only looks stunned for a moment, glancing up at him.  
“I swear she likes you more anyway, even if you don’t feed her.” He remarks, and steps back. “I’ll get the futon out.” 

The thanks he gets in return is quiet, but audible nonetheless, and Akinori’s already decided that Akaashi can take the bed, if he doesn’t mind waiting a little while for fresh sheets.

* * *

Akinori wins that fight, and leaves a breakfast out for Akaashi in the morning, having not emerged as of him leaving for work. He sends a text, however, at a more sociable hour, letting him know to make himself comfortable, and that the spare key is in the same place as it was last time. He gets responses throughout the day, small questions and updates on things; he’s cleaned the kitchen as a thank you for letting him stay, and Akinori affirms that he need not leave that night, either; he reiterates his offer in words that expand its meaning, lengthen its allowance from one night to however many. He knows how lonely alone can be, after all, and how difficult it can be to adjust. 

When he returns, it is to a ‘welcome home’ and the smell of cooking food.  
Akinori smiles. 

Hanging up his coat, he follows the scent into the kitchen; as predicted, Akaashi is before the stove, rice cooker on. Guessing that it is not far from completion, Akinori sets the table for the two of them. Akaashi asks about his day, and he answers, very aware of how generic and boring it is. 

He thought he’d taken leave of that particular issue, but he supposes these things are not left so easily behind. 

Still, it feels domestic, in a way that it hadn’t before. He doesn’t quite know why; perhaps it is the open invite, or the fact that Akaashi could easily have chosen to leave, and hadn’t. Had even stayed and cooked him dinner, and cleaned, and texted him during the day. He supposes most of it was not wanting to feel so alone, but it feels nice to be informed, to be depended upon. 

He supposes that this is what he wants from a relationship, really. A feeling of coming home, a feeling like home is a place he wants to speed time in, rather than a vessel in which to sleep and feed himself. Oftentimes he’ll leave work and stop at the convenience store, look around even though he needs nothing and he knows it; he does it purely as something to do rather than return to an empty apartment. He’s very versed with the sound of quiet, the feel of boredom. 

Today, however, had felt different: he’d looked forward to returning, knowing someone would be there to welcome him home. Knowing that conversation would be as easy as opening his mouth, rather than picking up a phone. Knowing that perhaps he wouldn’t have to cook and wash up for himself, wouldn’t have to watch the fish tank alone and pretend he didn’t get it to fill a silence. 

Today, it had felt like it was worth coming home. 

If not for the tell-tale warmth it inspires, that it is Akaashi, not merely anyone, waiting at his apartment, it wouldn’t be dangerous. Wouldn’t be an unwelcome feeling at all. 

Akinori reminds himself that he's over Akaashi. Not only that, but Akaashi is purely in need of a place to stay in the short term, somewhere unconnected to Bokuto, somewhere neutral to be. He knows Akinori won't comment, because he never did before. He doubts Akaashi wants empty remarks slating Bokuto, nor reassurances; he doesn't know what Akaashi does want, or need, but he'll have to rely on Akaashi telling him when and if he needs anything. 

This whole thing has a timeline on it. He'll enjoy it while he can, enjoy returning to an apartment with someone in it to welcome him back, because he knows it's not going to last. He knows at some point Akaashi is going to move on with his life and leave Akinori behind. Perhaps he’ll sort things out with Bokuto, or find someone else. Whatever he goes on to, Akinori knows that he’s going to leave, and he can’t get attached again. It only hurt him before, and it’s a blade that will reveal itself again in time if he lets it. If he catches it now, contains it, it’ll be alright. No one need get hurt. 

But it's pleasant enough, for now. Akinori spends more time smiling than he ever used to.

* * *

"Konoha-san," Akaashi says, over dinner one day. They'd fallen, as they often did, into a companionable silence, each mulling over their own thoughts and issues. Apparently Akaashi has come to some kind of conclusion. "I rather enjoy it up here, so I was thinking I might move." He remarks quietly. Akinori blinks; it's been three weeks or so, and Akaashi has fit in, paying his way by due of cooking and getting groceries, tidying up. It feels eerily similar to what he'd imagine having a housewife would be like; Akinori supposes, if Akaashi moves, he'll have to adjust back again. He's been reiterating the whole time that Akaashi is welcome to stay as long as required, but now, he supposes, the time has come for him to leave. 

He feels somewhat disappointed. 

"Do you need help finding an apartment?" He asks. At least it'll be something. They can stay friends, and he'll be close – although nothing will be quite the same. 

Akaashi smiles at him, inclines his head slightly.  
"That would be most helpful, Konoha-san. Your approval is paramount." 

But why would his approval matter? It's not like Akinori is going to be living there, after all. As long as Akaashi is happy, he is; come to think of it, Akaashi has never lived on his own, always with Bokuto and then Akinori. A living experience. 

"I can certainly help, if you check with me on when the viewings are, I can go with you." He murmurs, oddly hollow sensation in his chest. He looks back down at his food, furrowing his eyebrows at it. Dating, he thinks. He ought to get back into dating. That would fill time, and space. 

"I will do my best." Akaashi says, seeming brighter the rest of the evening; Akinori picks a rather more sombre book to match his own mood, and ends up watching the snow more than reading it. 

He can't help thinking about it. He's gotten used to a presence when he returns, company other than the whine of the fish tank and the minimal noise Mia makes. He'll have to adjust again, adjust back to cooking himself, doing everything himself. It's only natural. Of course Akaashi wasn't staying forever. He knew that. But there's just something indescribable about seeing a text pondering about a supermarket deal, or a shot he'd missed, or that one of his photos had been used somewhere. He'll miss it, he supposes. 

Nonetheless, he'll help. If Akaashi wants a second opinion on housing, he's happy to give it. Besides, Akaashi seems so hopeful, so much more content than he had immediately after the break-up, that Akinori is powerless to refuse him. He's taken it surprisingly well, and still converses with Bokuto, albeit less frequently. He's never quite explained, though. 

"What-" Akinori finds himself saying, without thought. Akaashi looks up at him, and Akinori just thinks _sod it_. He's going to lose him anyway one day, and it's only one question. He'd freely admitted it happened, just not how. "What actually happened?" 

Akaashi watches him for a moment.  
"With Bokuto?" He clarifies, and considers it when Akinori nods. "We sat down, and we- discussed it. That we didn't quite- weren't quite working as we once had. He admitted he didn't particularly love me romantically any longer." Akaashi folds his hands in his lap elegantly. "I was not overly surprised, as I'd been able to foretell the conversation, but it still hurt. It still hurts, now." 

"Ah." Akinori utters, unsure what else to say. What can he say? "For what it's worth, I always kinda saw you and Bokuto as a forever thing. High school sweethearts kind of thing, you know?" 

Akaashi stares wistfully out of the window.  
"I had always hoped. Although most first relationships don't last." He murmurs, at which Akinori furrows his eyebrows. 

"It wasn't Bokuto's first relationship, although it was damn sure his longest-"  
"It was mine, though." Akaashi interrupts. Akinori tries to think about that. Akaashi, polite, pretty, gracious, talented Akaashi? Had not been in a relationship before Bokuto? It just seems implausible. "All my 'first's lie with him, I suppose you might say." 

Not quite a thought Akinori wants to linger on.  
"I just assumed you'd had relationships before him, since you handled him so well." Akinori mumbles, fanning the pages of his book with his thumb as he admits it. Akaashi quirks a smile, only one side of his mouth and very transient. 

"I had numerous confessions in middle and high-school, but I declined them." He explains, and Akinori feels a chill screech up his spine. So glad - he wasn't one. He'd held his stupidity, for the good of himself, the club, and Akaashi. It's far better in the past, the glory of hindsight dulling the pain of it. 

Of course, Akinori hadn't had any at all. He didn’t – still doesn’t – stand out enough to get confessed to, has nothing for people to admire. 

"What about you, Konoha-san?" Akaashi questions mildly; Akinori scratches the back of his head, keeping the book open with his other hand. A historical mystery book, but it's gotten to a part where the love interest is being pursued. Akinori is perfectly fine with romance, and even enjoys it at times, but when it's just thrown in, and he's not expecting it, it throws him. It reminds him of his lack of success, which is never exactly pleasant. Now, with the knowledge he's fully going back to being on his own – well. He makes a note to look at a dating site again. Maybe they've improved in the months he's given up on them. 

"What about, relationships?" He clarifies, playing for time. He doesn't need someone who's perfect. He just wants someone who'll put up with him, and Mia, and his fish. He'd rather have stability than excitement, really, although a bit of both would probably do him good. 

Akaashi nods. Akinori turns his gaze out the window, to the rain sliding down it. 

"Not really any... serious... ones I guess. Nothing successful, as you can tell." He mumbles. No one had stayed for more than a month or two, and most hadn't gotten past the first few dates. Not that he's going to admit that to someone who fell into their first relationship and managed to maintain it happily for four years. 

"How odd." Akaashi intones. Akinori snorts incredulously. "Why, do you find that unbelievable?" 

"I doubt you'd get it. People fall over themselves to get your attention." Akinori grumbles, sighing. "People like interesting. They like things, people that stand out." 

He glances back. Akaashi is giving him a puzzled look, as though he's trying to work it all out.  
"Akaashi, I spend most of my time at work or sleeping. The rest of it is reading, or household chores. It's hard to break routine, and people don't like that. Anyway, that's not the point," he announces, stuffing the bookmark into his book and snapping it shut with, he hopes, a sense of finality. "I'm gonna wash up." 

Sadly, Akaashi doesn't – or more likely chooses not to – take the hint. He follows Akinori into the kitchen, cleverly disguising his curiosity under the intention of bringing the glasses in from the living room. 

"Do you not think people are interested?" He questions; Akinori fills the kettle and turns it on before he answers. 

"They're not _not_ interested. It just doesn't really last. It doesn't bother me." He lies smoothly, used to telling himself the same falsity, and forcing himself to believe it. 

Akaashi hums, and Akinori suspects there is a small frown on his lips. He doesn't turn, waits patiently for the kettle to boil; when it does, he mixes it into the cold, starts washing. 

"I see." Akaashi says finally, and starts on drying up. They fall into a routine, Akaashi more meticulous on drying than Akinori is at washing, so the stack piles up slowly, until there is nothing left to wash, unless he wants to start on the kitchen. He doesn't. He wants to go to sleep and forget he ever asked. 

"I'm gonna sleep. Night, Akaashi." He mumbles, sauntering out of the kitchen. Reminiscent of five years ago though, he doesn't make it away without comment. 

"You are far more interesting than you give yourself credit for, Konoha-san." Akaashi says. 

He feels like laughing. It's so blatantly untrue, he can't even fight that. He'll just leave Akaashi to his delusions, and goes to sleep.

* * *

A few Saturdays on, and they are looking at apartments. Akaashi has money; that's not a problem. The apartments are all far bigger and nicer than Akinori's, such that they feel too big for one, where his feels cramped for two. 

(And yet. Somehow, just right.) 

He's seen more island units than he's ever seen actual islands, and heard enough jargon to fill the ocean. Akaashi doesn't seem phased, but then, he rarely does; he does keep consulting Akinori on his thoughts, though. 

Typically, there's not much he can say: 'it's nice' is the sum of his first thoughts, then 'a little big for one person'. But this is Akaashi, used to Bokuto's living conditions, bigger and grander; the Akaashi family household is equally bigger than it has any right to be. This probably feels more normal, whereas Akinori's apartment likely feels more akin to a closet. 

In the fourth one, they all merge to something of a blur. In what he thinks is the eighth, Akinori asks why Akaashi even cares about his opinion. 

Akaashi hums thoughtfully, eyeing the space critically as he answers.  
"You have more experience living out than I do. I merely followed Bokuto, rather than choose any place for myself." 

More experience living alone, Akinori amends silently.  
"Well, think about what you didn't like about any places you lived, and go from that. Imagine yourself living there, and daily life. What would be a pain? What could you live with?" He shrugs. "It's kinda difficult, but I just get lost unless I do that." 

Akaashi casts his gaze towards Akinori for a moment, thinking. Akinori feels somewhat scrutinised, or like he said something stupid. He's tempted to take it back when Akaashi finally speaks. 

"What would you consider about this apartment, then?" He asks in a considered manner. "You have had three apartments, I believe, so likely something made you want to move out of the first two." 

Akinori thinks about it, then snorts.  
"The first one, the neighbours were super loud, and kinda rude. And the burners didn't really work, and the landlord refused to fix them." And it had felt too big to occupy alone. Straight out of university, he'd plumped for space, and then regretted it in the way his voice would echo off the walls, or any and all sound would be swallowed up in the cacophony around him.  
"The second one just didn't... really work. Dunno why. Maybe the feng shui was off." The lady downstairs had been a nosy kind, and once she discovered he was single, tried in ever less subtle ways to match him off with one of her daughters. It had been flattering at first. It then got annoying. Plus, they'd not allowed pets of any kind, and he'd been pondering getting a snake at the time. The layout had been off in no way he could clearly describe; he'd kept stubbing his toe into things, and found things rather nonsensical. It had only taken a few weeks for him to tire of that, and realise he wouldn't get used to it. 

"This one now is fine, but the kitchen is kinda pokey. I know the whole thing is, but still." It'd be nice to have room for a kotatsu, and to not have to move things to get the futon laid out properly, and even if it's mostly comfortable he does keep hitting his toe on the sofa. He's saved by not having a television set, and so not needing anything to put it on. 

But then, half his complaints evaporate when he doesn't have company, which considering it makes up 97% of his time, he doesn't have nearly so many. It comes to something when his main complaint is that it's empty. It's nothing to blame on the apartment. 

It's just occupied with someone unable to bring people to it. 

"I'm used to smaller apartments, so this feels too big for just you, but if you're happy with it..." Akinori trails off, recalling that Akaashi had asked his opinion of the current apartment more than his own. 

Akaashi just hums thoughtfully.  
"It's nice enough..." He comments, hesitantly. Upon Akinori raising an eyebrow at him, he elaborates: "It doesn't feel homely. I suppose that takes time, though, and your own belongings in a space." 

Akinori nods; no home feels like his until he's set all his books up, until he's cooked a meal in it. It only feels homely after a week or more, once he's said his greetings to the neighbours, come back from work to it, and had his fortnightly phone call with his mother in it. 

Or he could argue it only really felt homely when Akaashi was in it. 

He knows that's not really it. It's just that no one else has stayed with him for any length of time; Komi and Saru tend to visit together or with their other halves, and so get a hotel room. His parents do the same; no one person has stayed in his apartment more than a couple of days. 

It's circumstantial, he knows. 

"I'll think on it." Akaashi is telling the agent when he re-joins the real world, and gets a nod once Akaashi realises he's caught Akinori's attention. "I've finished for now. I propose we return; I've taken photographs and made notes." 

Akaashi, ever the organised one. He even has a notepad. Akinori merely nods, bows slightly to the agent, and leaves as soon as he is able. 

It's not the thought of Akaashi moving out that causes a dull ache in his chest. It's the worry. About whether he'll be alright on his own for the first time. 

It's not loneliness, and he won't be persuaded otherwise.

* * *

Akaashi is moving out tomorrow. His things are in boxes, a removals truck from Bokuto's house in Tokyo heading up as they sit, sharing a few beers and, for Akinori, half enjoying and half mourning his last night in Akaashi's company. 

He's an idiot, but he's used to that by now. 

It's really nothing new, after all. 

He holds up a beer to Akaashi, his arm feeling somewhat heavy. The dull ache in his chest has refused to leave. Maybe it's indigestion.  
"To new beginnings," he says, looking straight at Akaashi. Akaashi looks back at him a moment, before a wry smile twists his lips. 

"To new beginnings," he starts, cutting anything Akinori might have said by continuing to speak, "And new company made in them." 

Akinori isn't entirely sure what that means, but it's not too important, really. As long as Akaashi feels at home, wherever he goes. Wherever he ends up, with or without Akinori. 

He takes another swig of beer, feels the bitterness slide down his throat, bubbles popping uncomfortably. He swears he usually enjoys beer a little more than this. It’s not the season; too early in spring for it to feel refreshing, a little too cold. It tastes a little too much like _goodbye_ , and he’s tasted that enough. 

He wants it to taste like a new beginning, a fresh start. He wants to taste a _hello_ , a permanent _welcome back_. Wants to taste a smile, wants to taste _I missed you_. Wants to taste reciprocation. 

Instead, he just has the sour taste of the last night of human company, his lodger unawares that he solved more trouble than he ever caused. 

Akaashi never formally unpacked – never had much with him to unpack – but things got left out; without them, it feels wrong. He’s used to Akaashi’s copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ lying on the side table, bookmark inching closer to the finish. He wants to know what Akaashi thinks of it, as he refuses to share his thoughts until he’s finished a book. The growing pile of Akaashi’s books on the shelf has been relegated to the dark interior of a box, the gap making Akinori want to fill it with something. He’ll sort them all out once Akaashi has actually gone, for good this time (for bad, for bad, he doesn’t want this _he doesn’t want this_ ) and space it all out so the absence isn’t so obvious. Right now, it’s the only thing he can focus on. 

His eyes wander the shelves aimlessly, catching on every gap, whether he made it or not. They are in no particular order, really; he likes to keep series close together, but aside from that, he likes the erratic nature of it. Akaashi hadn’t minded; he prefers them sorted, but after three years of living with Bokuto, he’s learnt to not mind chaos. 

Thoughts sluggishly shifting through no real logical progression, he wonders about the main characters in those books; sometimes, their lives are just so ordinary at the start, before the plot happens. He feels like them before the start of a book, before the start of his book; plain, uninteresting. Waiting for something to happen, but also knowing the likelihood of it happening is minimal. Not everyone gets their story, after all. Not everyone gets to have their happy ending, their day in the spotlight. Cynically, he supposes it’s already gone, with his visit to Nationals. Maybe that’s it; he’s living the afterstory, where things get mind-numbing. No one writes this bit. He won’t find it in any book, any story, and why not? Who wants to read that?

Sighing, he leans his head back on the sofa, arm dropping until his can of beer rests against his leg, condensation cold against the heated interior of his flat. Soon-to-be-emptier-again flat. 

“If I was the protagonist to a story,” He murmurs, staring up at the ceiling, “It wouldn’t be popular at all.” 

Akaashi stays quiet for a long moment. Akinori thinks he’s not going to reply – good, fine, he doesn’t need one, it’s the truth after all – and then he hears his voice, out of nowhere.  
“Sometimes people want something calming.” Akaashi says, matter-of-fact.  
“Most people want exciting things, because they think their life is too boring. Why escape to something more boring than you’re already in?” He returns, the beer easing his words. 

“Do you think boring and calming are the same, Konoha-san?” Akaashi questions, and Akinori thinks it over. 

“They are very close.”  
“But not the same?” He pushes for clarification.  
“Not the same…” He concedes hesitantly. “But close enough. For most people.” 

“Not all, then?” Akaashi prompts. Akinori wrinkles his nose.  
“Calm is just a feeling of boredom you enjoy.” Or perhaps boredom is an unenjoyable calm; it’s all the same to him. He’s used to boring, lives in it, lives it every day, exemplifies it. Nine-to-five office job he can’t fully quantify the use of to anyone else, not even himself, small flat he rents. The closest he gets to exciting is locking himself out, or running out of milk. 

He supposes the one night where a distraught former teammate turned up on his doorstep in the late hours of the night might qualify, but that was a little too unfortunate to be classed as exciting. 

“I don’t agree, Konoha-san.” Akaashi replies, eventually.  
“No?” He intones, curious, and less than eager to wander into thoughts of his utterly average life, continuing the trend. 

“No.” Akaashi states firmly. Akinori awaits clarification, slow in coming. “Calmness is a feeling of peace, of contentedness. Boredom is empty.” 

Akinori snorts. He can’t help it. Akaashi has been surrounded by interesting things, or made them so.  
“When you live down here in mediocre land, they look and feel the same.” 

“Mediocre land, Konoha-san?” Akaashi echoes back. 

“Oh, never mind that. I meant, for me. I don’t think there is much difference.” He amends hurriedly, mentally slapping himself for the slip. He doesn’t need to confirm it with anyone. 

Akaashi is silent for long enough that Akinori thinks he might have fallen asleep; when he turns to look, though, Akaashi is looking at him piercingly. 

“Perhaps you have never felt calm, Konoha-san. That is a shame.” He says firmly, and just when Akinori thinks that’s it, “I think we ought to amend that.” 

The only thing he can think of to say is to echo the implication it would not be his journey alone. Akaashi smiles tightly, and folds his hands in his lap. 

"I shall endeavour to change this for you, Konoha-san. I would hate to see anybody deprived of calm." 

Akinori doesn’t think he’s been ‘deprived of calm’, but equally, he’s not going to refuse time with Akaashi. He can let go slowly, never mind what he should be doing. Akaashi is a highlight of interesting in his otherwise boring – definitely not calm – life. 

“Knock yourself out.” He remarks, quietly, and then because it sounds odd to him – probably the beer more than anything – “Do your worst.” 

It still sounds odd, but Akaashi laughs slightly. 

“I will do my best, Konoha-san.” He replies. Akinori finds himself looking forwards to it.

* * *

Akaashi leaves, and it makes the apartment feel even more empty than it had; he’s become used to coming home to the smell of cooking dinner, or sitting for an evening in comfortable silence, only broken by turning pages and clatter of keys as Akaashi sorts and touches up his photos on his laptop. 

He helped Akaashi move in, shifting boxes and furniture and left at the end of it, after a pleasant cup of tea with him, and a plan to meet up in a few weeks’ time. Akaashi refuses to regale him with any details as to what they will be doing, simply replying with a cryptic smirk, even after questioning; Akinori leaves it alone after a while, placates himself with messaging, and making good on his many mental notes. He spends a certain amount of his free time remaking his profile. He takes the best shot he can get of himself, winces at it, and posts it anyway, because he has nothing better. He adjusts and readjusts, types and erases and types things again, but he finds it difficult to put a good spin on boring. 

While he makes it live, and immediately turns off the computer so he isn’t waiting for replies, he laughs to himself. He really must be stupid, because he’s looking forwards to his weekend trip with Akaashi more than anything the site might provide him. 

In a sleepless moment on a deathly silent morning once, he ponders telling Akaashi. Actually pursuing it, or even just being honest. He feels like he ought to let Akaashi know that while he doesn’t have an ulterior motive, he does have feelings he’d rather not have, and it seems only fair to tell him. The positive part of him speculates that he might actually get something out of revealing it; the realistic side of him recalls hearing muted sobs behind closed doors, quiet, serious phone calls with Bokuto he only heard half of. He recalls puffy eyes on a good number of mornings, the picture of Bokuto in Akaashi’s wallet that hadn’t quite been thrown out. The picture frames in his new flat with the two of them, as though he cannot quite let go. 

And Akinori doesn’t know how long a four year scar takes to heal. 

So he shuts up, accepts that Akaashi is a no-go zone as far as relationships go, and awaits notifications from the dating site, while trying to message a few it has matched him with. 

He gets nothing before his outing with Akaashi; he turns his phone onto silent on the way over, relieving himself of further notifications. Akaashi told him only to bring warm clothes and sturdy shoes; he arrives on Friday evening. 

Early Saturday morning, he finds himself shaken awake; bleary clock hands tell him it’s an ungodly hour, part of him wants to pull Akaashi to him (warmth, it’s too cold, too cold) and never move again. The sensible part of him recognises that he has been looking forward to this, and he might well enjoy it after he’s had a coffee or three. Additionally, he’ll get punched if he tries to hug Akaashi like a cat right now. He murmurs his consciousness, and makes like he did all those years ago for morning practice, and dumps all the pain on himself at once, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. It hurts, but it works; ten minutes later find him sipping coffee in the kitchen with breakfast, across from Akaashi. 

Half an hour later, he finds himself with a torch at the base of a large hill (not a mountain, he is informed), and told he is going to scale it. 

Akinori wishes he’d kept up the strict regimen of training he had in high school and university; he’s not exactly out of shape, but he’s definitely not in shape, and it shows with the weariness in his bones barely halfway up, the way Akaashi smirks and taunts him mildly about it – photographers apparently tend to hike to remote spots to get good shots. He swears Akaashi takes a few utterly degrading ones of him on the way up, and swears that he’s going to the gym more after this. 

He also wonders how this fits into learning the difference between calm and boredom; it just seems like hard work, and he’s seen sun rises before, so he doubts that will be anything new. But Akaashi seems to anticipate showing him, so he goes along with it. It’s not like he has anything better to do with his Saturday, anyway, Akaashi is smiling contentedly whenever he’s not smirking at Akinori, and to see such a relaxed expression on him is novel in itself, and probably worth the trip. 

It shouldn’t be, really, but it is. Akinori doesn’t dwell on it, aided by a kick in the gradient of the slope, and another laugh at his lack of fitness. 

Reaching the top in murky dawn light, Akaashi sets to preparing his camera and associated rigmarole of photography. Akinori sits, catching his breath, letting the pain bleed out of his muscles whilst the light bleeds into the sky, clouds underlit with the sun before the earth ever sees it. They both remain quiet as it rises, colours shifting oh-so-slightly until the sun itself finally emerges. 

Akinori isn’t quite certain that he _gets_ it, but he feels clearer. As though the world is far away, and his place in it small; not in a way that degrades his existence, but merely that while it seems like the entire universe, he is part of a wider machine in the giant circus of life. In the cold crisp air on top of a mountain, with Akaashi, his worries seem less prominent, the world waits its turn in the background, on pause for a moment. 

He thinks he likes it. 

Here, he doesn’t have to be anything. Doesn’t have to worry about being mediocre when he feels like the rest of the world hardly exists, doesn’t have to think about being anything other than himself in the pure quiet surrounding them. Here, now, he can simply exist, and it is somewhat freeing, even though a tether of reality clasps onto him to remind him that nothing goes away that easily. Keeps him close to the ground, even as he is halfway to floating. 

When he turns, Akaashi is watching him, early sunshine casting his skin golden, in his eyes a glint Akinori believes is not really there, and he wants to say something. 

Instead:  
“Thanks.” 

And then:  
“Might need some more evidence to know if this is calm, though…”  
Teasing. Joking, but not. He enjoyed this moment, wants more of them, and he knows, he knows Akaashi knows he’s joking, but he smiles lightly rather than rebukes him. 

“A sufficient number of experiments required, correct? You did always do well at science.” 

It is, in that moment, enough. The promise of more makes it infinitely better, deleting the worry about this being any kind of final trip. Akinori closes his eyes, leans back, and listens to the sound of the wind. 

If this is calm, he could get used to it.

* * *

The apartment seems devoid of any sound when he returns on the Sunday, although he knows it is not silent. The buzz of the fishtank is a poor replacement for the peace of only wind and fresh air; Mia is as quiet as pets get, and Akinori swiftly finds himself back on the dating sites again, a more concerted effort this time. 

In between outings with Akaashi, he dates. 

Buroto Yumi is the first, and it happens after his second outing, a trip to the sea. He’s actually dated her before: he didn't recognise her, having changed her hair from dark brown to a vibrant red. They meet in a café, and it goes about as well as the first time. She does not get in touch again. 

Kimihito Jiriki he has not dated at all, or even seen around. The first date actually goes fairly well, and happens after his fourth outing with Akaashi, a weekend spent learning to ski. Akinori invites him back after the second, a mindless action movie Akinori had tried not to critique in his head or out loud. He finds out that Jiriki has a phobia of snakes. He does not contact Akinori again after that. 

Kawano Mayu is alright; the first date seems to go fine (just before an outing with Akaashi, he’s starting to lose count), and they exchange numbers and a few messages. But after a few days, the messages ebb out to occasional, then nothing, and Akinori finds he doesn't want to keep her enough to try very hard. 

Months ebb by without much change. He enjoys every meeting with Akaashi more than any of his dates, and hates the fact. He messages more people than he meets, but none of the ones he meets work out particularly either. He gets up to third dates sometimes before either he or they bail, and it irritates him that he's not found anyone he clicks with, that's he's not finding anyone. He joins more sites, different ones, and tries his luck with going out to events more, hoping. Wanting someone with whom he can easily mesh. Like what he had with Akaashi. 

Mostly, he hates that they are automatically compared to Akaashi. 

Akaashi is far from perfect, he reminds himself. He leaves socks about the place when it feels homely to him, and will warm his frozen feet on Akinori's bare skin without preamble. He doesn't like ironing, so aims for the least amount possible – he scowls every time Akinori irons his work clothes, and eventually grumbles about getting burnt by one once and never quite forgiving such a thankless task. He puts a bit more pepper in food than Akinori likes. He'll edit photos for hours at a time. He won't feed Mia, although he will sometimes remember to feed the fish. 

It should not, he thinks, be difficult to find someone he likes _more_ than Akaashi. 

But somehow, it turns out not to be easy. 

A year passes from Akaashi turning up on his doorstep; Akinori can count his successful first dates on both of his hands, can no longer remember what number he is up to with Akaashi, and seriously starts to think about giving up. 

They’ve gone through a summer in the same location, and as time has passed, the number of Akaashi’s photos on his walls has increased, and the rate of people he invites back to his apartment who comment on them positively is high. He enjoys passing the comments along to Akaashi, seeing him smile, pleased that others see the same vision in his photographs that he does. 

They see Bokuto at the Olympics, and on the television, proudly striding around the stadium with his fellow representatives; Japan manage to make it to the final, and after an especially tense game against the US, manage to clinch the gold medal. Bokuto is over-excited about his appearance in it – he’s become a far more manageable player now his mood swings are less extreme, and makes them all come visit him afterwards for a party. Akinori can’t remember most of it, except that Akaashi spent most of it by his side, and minimal amounts of time talking to Bokuto. 

At Christmas, they travel to Tokyo together, sharing a flask of tea on the train and watching the snow pile up either side of the tracks at a blur. He sees Sarukui and Komi; Akaashi sees Bokuto, and then the whole group see each other, Ogata unable to return home for the holiday, and several of the old team unavailable. Akinori keeps a careful eye on Akaashi, sat just slightly apart from Bokuto, until Sarukui jabs his in the ribs with his elbow. Akinori doesn’t get it. He hopes he doesn’t get it, but he stops watching so closely, satisfied that Akaashi has recovered enough to deal with this proximity. 

(Is a four year old scar still healing after a year? He doesn’t know. He still doesn’t know.) 

Akaashi invites him to _hanami_ ; Akinori agrees, little else to do. They pass by his workmates, and people Akaashi knows; they drink sake, and it is loud, raucous, not calming at all, but Akinori finds he likes it just as much, smiles freer and laughter in the air, pleasant company and air just cold enough to bite as he breathes in. it feels like freedom, and he mourns its loss the next day, as much as he rues the headache he has gained. 

Disappointment stems only from the dating sites, endless matches that don’t work; he starts to give up, ending subscriptions and saving his money. He’ll try again in a few years, see if they can find an answer he’s never known. 

(But they won’t know the answer he really wants. Four year scar. He denies himself the reason he wants to know.)

Time passes into spring, and summer once more; the trips with Akaashi have become a sacred ritual to Akinori, an oasis in the monotony of his life. He loses some fish, and replaces them with others. Mia sheds her skin once more, and he scares Akaashi with it by pretending she’s gone missing. 

(Akaashi gets his revenge in making him wear it like a crown, and takes pictures. Akinori barely remembers the embarrassment, only the smile that had graced Akaashi’s face.) 

Komi asks him if he’s had any success. Sarukui asks him if he finally said something. Bokuto blathers about his new girlfriend and whether Akinori is jealous of this one, too. Akaashi frowns less when he mentions he’s given up on the sites for the time being. 

Akinori just keeps living, and hopes he’ll find answers that way. On average, he ought to.

* * *

Akinori sighs heavily, leaning back into Akaashi’s comfortable sofa, propping his feet up on the table. He can feel the raised eyebrow he gets, so he elaborates, despite the silence.  
“The contract on my apartment’s coming up. I was thinking I might move.” He muses, more thinking aloud than anything. “Maybe closer to work, so I could walk. Or bike, I guess. I’d have to get a bike, though.” He mumbles, thinking it through. He’s kind of out of the way from the centre where he is, and while it’s quiet and allows pets, it’d be nice to be a little closer, and get some exercise. He has been going to the gym more, inspired by his continuing outings with Akaashi, often involving strenuous exercise or brutal slopes, but it’d be good to walk. Cheaper, too. 

“Perhaps you could move here.” Akaashi intones, and Akinori opens one eye to peer at him. “It would relieve the pressure of finding an apartment in time, would it not?” 

So he means temporarily. It might work, although Akinori is probably too disorganised to stick around for long. If he gets comfortable, Akaashi is doomed – he’ll never move. It’s not like he’d want to, anyway. 

“I’ll have a look around, but sometimes negotiations about pets can take a while, so that’ll be useful, thanks. I might end up taking you up on that one.” Akinori says, thinking he ought to find one soon. If he moves in at all, Akaashi is probably doomed. Since he’s comfortable here as it is, the amount of time he spends around here, it wouldn’t take him any time at all to not want to subject himself to loneliness again. This time, they wouldn’t even keep kicking each other due to the lack of space, and he’d have no impetus to leave. 

It’s a bad idea, and he knows he shouldn’t. 

“It’s quite alright if you do. I can easily convert the office into a bedroom.” Akaashi remarks. Akinori snorts. 

“I wouldn’t go to all that effort, I’d never leave!” He jokes, but then Akaashi doesn’t respond immediately. When Akinori looks over again, there is just a faint colour to his cheeks, and he is staring avidly at his computer screen. In the reflection of his reading glasses, Akinori can see that the screen isn’t moving at all; it seems to be his normal background photo. 

“I would not be opposed to that, Konoha-san.” 

Akinori opens his mouth a few times in an attempt to reply, and shuts it again each time when he can’t think of anything. He’s probably supposed to refuse that, it’s not supposed to be a long term offer, but it sounds that way, and Akinori would like it to be. 

“What about Mia? And the fish, won’t you-”  
“Pets are permitted here, Konoha-san. It would be no problem at all.” Akaashi stresses it, like he knows Akinori will be on the fence. 

Akinori thinks that it might just well be as close to begging as Akaashi would ever get. He thinks about how much time he’s spent around here, how often Akaashi has people over, and wonders if Akaashi is dealing with the same thing as him. Akaashi has had to cope for a year, and maybe he’s just fed up of the quiet. 

(And maybe…?) 

“Well if you want me here that much, then I guess you leave me no choice…” He returns, but he’s smirking, and Akaashi’s eyes slip across to him. A faint smile plays on his lips, obscured by the light of the screen. 

“I’ll see to getting more bookshelves.” He says, and Akinori finds himself looking forwards to it. Kind of dreading it, too, because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep quiet if they’re living together (but maybe he ought to-) but mostly looking forward to it.

* * *

"Does an average person help get their team to Nationals?" Akaashi inquires sharply. Akinori doesn't really have any response for that; no, is the answer, but it doesn't help him now, and it hadn't helped in the past. "Does the average person get onto the starting line-up for their national-level team?" He asks again. Akinori scowls at nothing in particular, his gaze turned firmly away from his flatmate. 

"Akaa-" he starts, uncomfortable. Slip of the tongue, why had he said it? It’s been a bad week, work refusing to comply to his wishes, and he’s become a.) very aware that he needs to tell Akaashi and b.) very certain that he doesn’t want to. But even considering, why had he said anything? Nobody needed to know. Or at least, have it confirmed. They probably all know, know how he hates being called average because he already knows, it's another scoop of dirt in the grave, another pillar to the statue of mediocrity that is him. He knows it. They know it. But neither of them is wrong, and he knows that, knows it in every bone of his body, and hates it. He doesn’t think about it much most of the time, so it doesn’t bother him so much, but when he’s stressed, it’s the first thing that returns. 

"Konoha." Akaashi intones. The lack of honorific makes him look up. "Can the average person cover for any position in a national-level high school volleyball team?" He waits, patiently, for an answer. 

Why is Akaashi confirming this with him? It’s not about volleyball, or what he did in high school. Akinori just doesn't really stand out, ever, and doesn't that just mean he's so bland and average it hurts? He makes a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and altogether a pathetic sound. He can’t say no, but yes doesn’t seem right either. 

"Is it not possible, Konoha, that you are quietly amazing?" 

Akinori blinks. 

Then realises that means nothing. How can it? People see Akaashi. He can't know what it's like, to be so plain. 

"It's not possible, and it's not true. I'm just this. Me, plain, simple. Average." He gestures to himself as he says it, feels self-conscious as he does so. "Even quietly amazing people get noticed, and I don't." He states. 

"I notice you." Akaashi says, faint dusting of red on his cheeks designating him as still human. He doesn't stop there, though. "I have always noticed you, Konoha. I don't waste my time on average people. Not having one single outstanding talent is not an indicator of mediocrity: in fact, being good at everything is a talent of its own." 

Akinori finds that several words exit his mouth simultaneously; hence, none of them makes any sense. He flaps his hands and tries to gather his thoughts.  
"But it's boring! Nobody likes boring!" He returns, voice turning towards shrill.  
Akaashi sighs. Akinori thinks he's won the argument – hollow victory though that is – when Akaashi stands up, hands on the table, and leans in closer. 

"Akinori." That single word, his first name and the closeness, makes him freeze up. "I believe you are getting confused between 'boring' and 'calming' once again. But if by your logic calm is an enjoyable boredom, then I am consistently in a state of calm around you." 

State of calm... Enjoyable boredom... Meaning that Akaashi enjoys being around him? 

Well, he clearly doesn't hate him, because he’d never have offered a place in his flat if he had. Enjoyment is probably pushing it, though. Isn’t it? He finds it hard to believe. 

"Don't you want something more exciting?!" He squeaks, his voice and words and brain and vocal cords not cooperating properly. The proximity messes with his wiring, the implication messes with his heart. 

Akaashi smiles faintly.  
"I have had my four years of exciting. I have had my year of your so-called 'boring'. At this point, I am very sure as to which I would pick." When Akinori opens his mouth to refute it, Akaashi leans forward just a little more. "I am not looking for a flash in the pan. I am not looking for anything short term. I'm looking for constancy, and if you are willing, I believe I may have found it." 

Akinori's brain stops providing sensible feedback. 

Akaashi.  
Wants constancy.  
With him? 

It's impossible, but there's few other ways he can misconstrue those words. His heart, held in hiatus, had returned to its fallen state so easily, with every book that had joined his on the shelf, with every meal eaten together, with every 'welcome home', every furtive smile at Mia. And now with the way their books have started overlapping, mixed up on the shelves, with how they’ve fallen back into a routine so easily, with how they just seem to fit. 

Akinori decides to throw caution to the wind. 

“Akaashi.” He starts, shaky. He gets a nod. “Will you- Do you want, um. Would you like to go out with me?” He finally spits out. 

Akaashi smiles, pleased.  
“I thought you would never ask, Konoha. I would love to.” 

Akinori feels like he could kiss him, but also like he probably wouldn’t survive that. He settles for tugging him into a tight hug, and grins widely over his shoulder at the fish tank, its occupants unaware to the shift in their owner’s life. 

It’s taken him a while, but he feels anything but average at that moment; it’s a sensation he could quite easily dwell on, and as Akaashi holds him closer, he suspects (and hopes) it’s not the last time. 

He could get used to this. He plans on it. If this can be his average, he’s more than happy to keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> More rare pairs, because they're fun. Also, expanding one comment he makes about hating being called 'Jack of all trades' to a whole complex about being average. 
> 
> Also, I'd kind of like to try writing something different, so if you want to shoot me a prompt in a comment or message or whatever, you can! I don't promise to do it necessarily, but I'll try my best, I just... need to challenge myself, I think. Haikyuu is the most likely to get done, but you can ask about other fandoms if you want, I might be able to. Depending on the length of it, I'll post it either here, on my tumblr, silverliningslurk, or both. So yeah. That being said, they may not be super fast...


End file.
